


Overstimulated

by scandalsavage



Series: SladeRobin Week 2018 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Costume Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Slade doesn't like other people touching his things.





	Overstimulated

“Take it off,” Slade growls.

Dick gives him a blinding smile and somehow manages to glide up to him with every drop of grace and fluidity as usual. Slade feels a ping of jealousy… and a hint of arousal.

“Jumping straight to it then, are we?” Dick says playfully, fingers of his right hand grazing Slade’s belt as he tucks himself against the older man’s side, “I didn’t expect it to work this well. I had this whole speech worked out for why you should wear m—”

Slade grabs the boy by his shoulders and shoves him away, purposefully not looking anywhere but Dick’s face.

“I said take it off. Now.”

Dick blinks, smile faltering just a little. “Ok, now I don’t think you mean that in a fun way,” his lower lip extends just enough to be pouting and Slade wants to bite that lip so badly he almost lets the kid get away with this stunt.

“You know I don’t like people touching my things,” he snarls instead.

Dick tilts his head and smiles skeptically, “Oh come on, even me?” He bats his eyes.

Slade narrows his eye and moves toward him, crowding his space, pressing the kid against the back of the sofa, caging him in with one arm while he reaches up with the other and grips Dick’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in close so his lips brush against the smaller man’s when he rumbles, “Especially you.”

He gives Dick his own smirk when he feel’s the kid shudder under him.

Dick licks his lips, tongue ‘accidently’ nicking Slade’s at the same time.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Slade moves his hand down to Dick’s throat and gives a light squeeze before dipping his fingers under the neckline and tugging the collar hidden underneath, “The answer’s the same for both interpretations,” he says and steps back, enjoying the tiny whimper Dick lets out at the loss of contact.

“Now,” Slade crosses his arms over his broad chest, “Take off my fucking armor.”

“This is hardly armor,” Dick says.

Compared to his current Deathstroke ensemble, Dick’s right. This is one of his older suits. His eyes rake down Dick’s form. Actually, this is his first suit. Which explains why it’s not falling off the kid. He must have found the hidden button that shrunk it to the size of the wearer. A lot more efficient to get in and out of quickly if you didn’t have to stuff your muscles into skintight Kevlar. He’d liked the mobility it allowed him back in the old days, when he wasn’t quite used to being indestructible and still fought like he’d get hurt if he got hit. Back when he was fighting acrobatic little shits who liked to make dumb puns. These days, his armor is bulkier, he takes a lot more hits. Not because he’s any slower but because taking hits that won’t do any damage is a lot more efficient fighting technique than all that wasted energy moving out of the way.

Dick has left off all the belts and pouches and bandoliers that he used to have all over the thing. And the weapons, obviously.

Slade’s eyes slide to the orange trunks. Dick’s left out the cup too.

But it’s the boots that really catch his eye. He can’t believe he ever wore those stupid things with the bell over the lower leg.

But they look good on Dick. Everything looks good on Dick.

Slade scowls. He still wants the kid out of his clothes. He wants to rip the clothes off him but he knows that’s what Dick wants too and Slade is trying to send a message.

Don’t touch my shit.

“Go put your suit on and I’ll peel you out of it,” Slade says, “And then never touch anything of mine again unless I tell you to.”

“You always peel me out of my suit,” Dick whines, “I want to do something different.”

He looks up at Slade from beneath dark lashes and all Slade sees is trouble.

Delicious trouble.

“You know, my suit has one of these little buttons too…” Dick says mischievously, “I was thinking, maybe you—”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

Slade intercepts his hand when Dick tries to stroke his cheek, gripping the wrist hard. Dick’s eyes light up with desire.

“How’d you even mange to get it on?” Slade asks, knowing he’s not going to like the answer. Dick’s flexible, but with the fairly alarming size difference between them, even he couldn’t have reached the button with the suit on enough to shrink into place.

Dick has the decency to blush and look a little guilty.

“What d’you mean?” he mumbles.

Slade squeezes his wrist harder.

“Jason,” Dick winces, “Jason helped me.”

Slade actually growls, low and threatening. Dick let that punk into Slade’s apartment? Let him touch the suit? Let him help Dick into the suit?

“Last chance, Grayson. Take. Off. The armor,” and Slade hopes he’s right about how stubborn Dick plans on being.

Dick’s pupils swallow the blue and he swallows hard before saying quietly, “No.”

Slade was never going to win this one. From the moment he walked in, no matter what he said or did here, he’s playing right into Dick’s hand. Either way, the kid is getting what he wants.

Well, there’s a couple things he can do. Dick will still like them, but he’ll be _really_ frustrated and might even learn his lesson.

Slade grins at the boy wickedly.

Dick smiles back, eyes twinkling.

“Remember, all you had to do was take off the suit.”

 

*             *             *

 

Two hours later Slade is sitting in the armchair in his bedroom sipping on some cold water, admiring the view.

Dick is strung up on his knees in the middle of the bed, wrists cuffed behind him to the bar spreading his ankles wide. Slade had made him put the boots back on after stripping and the bits of the bar wrapped around Dick’s ankles are covered by the orange bell. His back is arched obscenely, and he’s forced to hold the awkward pose upright by the chain pulled taut between the ceiling and the metal ring on the front of his collar, Slade’s favorite, pretty much the only one Slade lets him wear now; black leather with a bold, orange “S” stamped on it.

He’s been like that for 19 minutes now.

Slade changes the setting on one of the three remotes he has on the armrest and shuts another off completely.

The muffled cry makes him chuckle.

The first thing Slade had done after dragging Dick into the bedroom by his hair was get the triple looped, vibrating cock ring fitted around Dick’s cock and balls. Kid was going to have to wait until Slade was feeling generous and it was going to be a torturous wait. That had been in the first 10 minutes and Slade still hadn’t felt generous yet.

What he had felt like doing was fucking Dick a couple of times and trapping his cum inside the boy’s body with a fat plug, also of the vibrating variety. Then he’d used Dick’s mouth until he was ready to pop again and pulled Dick off with a rough jerk to that soft black hair, releasing all over Dick’s face and chest. Dick had been painfully hard the whole time but, by the time Slade was done getting himself off, Dick was already getting a little desperate.

Finally, before he’d tied Dick up, Slade had silenced him with a ball-gag and partially blinded him by tying his old Deathstroke mask over Dick’s head. Once Dick was bound and his chest was thrust out, Slade had pinned the weighted, warming, also vibrating clamps to Dick pert nipples. He’d toyed with him mercilessly for while after that, working him up, denying him relief, until Dick was so needy Slade knew he couldn’t stand it. Then Slade had backed off completely.

The result is a gorgeous, overstimulated, desperate Dick Grayson, flushed pink and gleaming with sweat, hanging from the ceiling, fighting for his sanity.

Slade thinks it’s some of his best work.

After a minute he turns the cock ring back on to a choked whimper before turning all the fun little torture devices up to their highest settings.

Dick tries to thrash as he screams out the best he can. He doesn’t get very far on either.

23 minutes.

Slade picks up his phone and walks toward the bed, eye locked on Dick’s ridiculous body as he pulls up his camera without looking at the screen. He hadn’t been able to see it from the chair, but Dick’s cock is leaking so much precum his balls are glistening and there’s a wet spot on the sheets below. Slade kind of wishes he’d sounded the kid. He’s got a couple of those that vibrate too.

Dick flinches a little when he hears the photo capture sound from the phone. Slade had approached from the eyeless side of the mask and Dick, it seems, had gotten so frustrated with the partial blindness he’d just closed his other eye too.

Dick turns toward him as much as he can, still not enough to be able to see him, and makes a questioning noise.

Keeping his hands and mouth off him is the hardest thing Slade’s done in… ever.

“Don’t worry, pet,” he hums, pleased by the full body shudder that runs down Dick, jostling the weights at the end of the clamps, making Dick moan and Slade’s eye fixate on the area. He gives in; reaches up and swipes a thumb over a warm, hard, angry red, nub drawing out another of those delicious pleasure-pain noises.

“It’s for my eyes only,” Slade leans in and drops his voice even lower, “I _really_ don’t like sharing my stuff.”

Dick shudders again.

Slade slips his fingers lower, touch soft and teasing as he traces each muscle before slowing and following the line of Dick’s Adonis belt at a barely perceptible pace.

Dick is breathing hard but otherwise he stills. Slade knows how sensitive he must be to every touch, how badly Dick must want—no, _need_ —to get off. And now Slade’s _finally_ creeping towards the ache between his legs and he’s desperate for it.

29 minutes.

Almost there, Slade thinks as he lets his fingers whisper across the straining purple cock, so feather light he almost misses how hot it is.

Dick cries out and jerks his hips forward, searching for any kind of friction. Not that it’d do him any good.

At exactly 30 minutes Slade wraps his hand around Dick firmly, feeling the gentle but insistent pulsing of the vibrating ring, and before he even strokes, Dick is moaning and trying to thrust into his fist.

“Stay still,” Slade growls, and Dick is so out of it he’s sobbing and trembling but, with obviously extreme effort, he manages to stop his most frantic movements.

Slade gives Dick’s cock a couple lazy strokes as he admires his handiwork one more time. His own cock twitches at his dried cum on those perfect pecs, the sweat dripping past stainless steel weights, the way Dick’s ass flexes reminding Slade of the butt plug vibrating on high against his prostate. The way Dick’s whole body shakes with tension and desperation. The way his chest heaves up and down trying to get some control.

Slade rips off the mask. He takes in the shiny, wet streaks of tears down Dick’s face and shimmering on the leather of the straps of the gag. There’s a little drool running down the boy’s chin.

When Dick’s eyelids flicker open and he looks up at Slade through thick, wet lashes, blue just a sliver on the edges of wide black pupils, Slade grins at him.

Dick chokes out a pleading sob.

Slade tangles his free hand in Dick’s hair and tugs him even further back into an even sharper arch.

“The suit is mine,” Slade snarls, voice full of gravel and heat, “And you’re mine.” He pauses to lean in and suck on Dick’s clavicle before giving him a little bite. If Dick shudders again Slade can’t tell with how bad the kid’s shaking. He moves back up and leans in to whisper hotly against Dick’s ear, “No one touches what’s mine but me.”

He pulls back and looks into Dick’s eyes. “Clear?”

Dick nods vigorously and makes another begging noise.

“Good.”

Dick shouts in some confused combination of pleasure and pain, as Slade snaps off the bands that’ve been holding his orgasm at bay and grips the leaking prick again; Slade’s hardly touched him before he’s cumming all over his hand, crying big wet tears of relief.

Slade unhooks the chain from the collar and Dick sags against him, completely spent. He crawls into the bed as he shifts the boy onto his side and rearranges his still bound legs and arms into a more comfortable position, lying partially in Slade’s lap, before removing the gag with his clean hand.

Dick gasps for air and curls into Slade’s thigh.

Slade cards his clean hand through Dick’s hair, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

When his breathing evens out, Slade presses his wet fingers against bruised lips.

Dick doesn’t even hesitate; opens his mouth and sucks Slade’s fingers clean of his own cum like he’s on autopilot; like he’s a well-trained pet.

It’s fucking breathtaking.

Slade lifts his hips a little, pressing his erection into Dick’s overheated skin to get the boy’s attention.

Dick looks up at him weakly. Slade can see that all the kid’s energy is completely depleted. But that’s ok, because Slade’s gonna do all the work anyway.

Dick seems to realize this too. He manages to curl further into Slade’s lap, looks up again, lids heavy but with exhaustion this time, and dutifully opens his mouth.

“Good boy,” Slade hums and guides Dick down.

**Author's Note:**

> hehe this is a lot of fun
> 
> And now I wanna see Slade in the Nightwing costume...


End file.
